Thanksgiving was supposed to be a day of warmth, family, and togetherness. Instead, for one Wisconsin mother, it became a night that shattered her world forever — a night when three young lives were taken in a fire that claimed everything she loved.
On Thursday evening, inside a modest Kenosha apartment filled with coloring books, children’s laughter, and holiday excitement, a fire broke out so fast and so fiercely that it stole the lives of10‑year‑old Rylee, 9‑year‑old Connor, and 7‑year‑old Alena before their mother ever knew they were in danger.
Today, their mother, Jourdan Feasby, speaks through a grief so deep it barely has words.
“They were my whole world,” she said quietly, her voice breaking. “And now… I have nothing.”
A Holiday Meant for Family
Thanksgiving morning had been ordinary, even joyful. Jourdan dropped off her children at their father’s home so they could spend the holiday with him. They were excited — eager to play, to watch movies, to talk about Christmas gifts. She had plans too: take them Christmas shopping, make memories, fill the season with the magic only children can create.
“I was so excited for Christmas shopping,” she told CBS 58. “But now it’s just caskets.”
Hours later, just before midnight, her sister called with words that would forever divide Jourdan’s life into “before” and “after.”
A fire.
Children trapped.
Her kids.
Gone.
“I couldn’t process what I was hearing,” she said. “It didn’t feel real. My brain couldn’t understand it.”
But the flames had already claimed the lives of her eldest two, Rylee and Connor, by the time firefighters reached them. Little Alena, still fighting, was rushed to the hospital — but her small body could not overcome the injuries. She died soon after.
Three Lights Lost Too Soon
To know these children is to understand the magnitude of what was taken.
Rylee, 10, was the imaginative big sister — the leader, the nurturer, the one who made sure her siblings brushed their teeth, zipped their jackets, crossed the street safely. She loved reading books under blankets and making her siblings laugh with silly dances.
Connor, 9, had a gentle heart and a mischievous streak. He adored superheroes and believed with all his heart that people could be good if they tried hard enough. His teachers called him a “quiet leader,” a child who made other children feel safe.
Alena, only 7, was pure sunlight — a bubbly little girl who left glitter and paint wherever she went. She wrapped her arms around everyone with fierce affection. She believed in magic, especially during the holidays. She believed in Santa, unicorns, kindness, and happy endings.
Their absence is more than loss — it is a silence that hangs in every corner of Jourdan’s home.
“They brought all of this light,” she whispered, “and now I don’t have it.”
A Mother’s Grief, Raw and Unfiltered
Since the fire, Jourdan has barely slept. Barely eaten. Barely breathed.
“It feels like the world kept spinning but I stayed frozen,” she said. “I feel so alone. To go from having my whole world to nothing… nothing prepares you for that.”
And yet, through the pain, one thought keeps haunting her — the thought every grieving mother eventually confronts: What if I had been there?
“You can say all you want that you’d do this or that in the moment,” she said. “But I will tell you, without a doubt — if I was in that situation, my kids would’ve been out. Or I would’ve been dead with them.”
Not an accusation.
Not anger.
Just a mother grieving the reality that she wasn’t there to protect them.
Her ex, the children’s father, was hospitalized with smoke inhalation but survived. Investigators have not identified a cause yet, and the fire remains under active investigation. Jourdan is not focused on blame. She is trying to breathe under the crushing weight of what has happened.
The Weight of Three Lives Gone
Jourdan remembers the routines, the inside jokes, the tiny moments that defined their days.
The way Alena hummed while brushing her hair.
The way Connor always said goodnight twice — “in case the first one didn’t count.”
The way Rylee insisted her siblings sleep with the hallway light on so no one had nightmares.
Now she sits in a quiet house where their backpacks still hang by the door, their shoes still lined up neatly, their drawings still taped to the fridge.
Her mind circles back to the same thought — they were young, so young, and they faced something terrifying without her there to hold them.
“It brings a little peace,” she said gently, “that they are all together. None of them are alone.”
A pause.
“But for me… it’s hard. Because I didn’t want to be left behind.”
The grief is unbearable. But her love — the fierce, protective love of a mother — remains unbroken.
A Community Rises Around Her
As word spread, the Kenosha community quickly rallied around Jourdan. Vigils formed. Flowers, drawings, teddy bears, and candles now sit outside the burned apartment building. Neighbors, classmates, teachers, strangers — all grieving with her.
People remember the laughter of three children who had their whole lives ahead of them. They remember the kindness, the spark, the joy they brought.
Jourdan is overwhelmed by the support, but also drowning in the distance between her and her children.
“They were the brightest things in my life,” she said. “Now everything feels dark.”
Moving Forward — If Forward Is Even Possible
Jourdan faces a reality no parent should ever endure: planning three funerals instead of Christmas. Choosing caskets instead of presents. Writing eulogies instead of holiday cards.
Nothing about this is fair. Nothing about it is fathomable.
The fire investigation continues. Answers may come. Or they may not. But none of them will bring Rylee, Connor, or Alena back.
Jourdan knows this.
And still — she wakes up each day and speaks their names.
“I just hope they knew how loved they were,” she said. “How deeply, deeply loved.”
In her grief, she clings to one truth:
If love alone could have saved them, they would still be here.